John Porter & Kip: December
by KiplingKat
Summary: One quick drabble-ish, just an evening at home that I wrote in order to get my head back in the characters and their relationship before I launched into JPK: India. Hope you enjoy this as you enjoy your Holidays.


_Disclaimers: _

_A. Don't own John Porter or the Strike back - verse, not making any money off this, and have severe doubts anyone could. _

_B. This story was written as a great conceit. I believe strongly in the rule of fanfic that reads: "No one gives a crap about your Mary Sue." But we were presented with a challenge on the IMDB Richard Armitage board: "You'll Never Guess Who I Ran Into…" in which "we can imagine what it would be like to bump into one of RA's characters and what occurs." So I came up with the original "So I Met John Porter…" story and a couple others. I beg forgiveness and hope that readers can use my Mary Sue as a lens through which to get to know these characters better. _

_C. This story isn't really a story, just a bit of dabble I needed in order to get my head back in the characters and the relationship again after so long. There's some character development for John here, and bits of their relationship that otherwise would not see print. And yes, a bit of smexy. _

_D. Actually a lot of the smexy, there is adult content in here.  
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~December 2010 ~

"Heavy snow falling across London forced British Airways to cancel all flights out of Heathrow International Airport in London for the time being. The snow forced the entire airport to close for a time, allowing cleanup crews to….." The TV clicks off behind me as I look out the window across the street to the park, the bare branches of the beech trees and the boughs of evergreens weighed down with snow as it falls, softly, softly, in the fading grey light.

John wraps his arms around my waist to hold me to him, leaning his head against mine as we watch the snowfall in silence. I love him. I love this. I love that we can spend lunch arguing about Wikileaks and military security needs vs. freedom of information, and then share quiet moments, just the comfort and joy in each other's presence.

I'm almost scared to admit that I'm…happy. Simply and utterly happy.

He was supposed to fly out early tomorrow morning, but as we were struggling home from our one Christmas shopping trip to find him something for Alex, he got a call from the office.

I lean back into him and cover his hand with mine. _Thank you Lord and Lady. _

"A proper snow day," he murmurs in my ear as he kisses it softly.

He answers his phone while holding me. "Hi sweetheart…. We're at _Kip_'s...No, we needed sled dogs just to get back here, sorry…No, I don't mind...Do we have enough? ….Good, good. Just clean up after and I'll see you tomorrow…Right. Love you….Bye."

"Alex o.k.?"

"Yeah, she and her mates are going to camp out at my place. Give them more of a chance to catch up while she's in town. Speaking of food…" He plants a quick kiss in my hair and heads into the kitchen to start pawing through the refrigerator. The man may be able to analyze and predict rebel troop movements in Liberia and field strip a rifle in less than a minute, but anything more complicated than a pot noodle and sandwich and he is lost.

"Oh, will you shoo." I wave him out of the kitchen. "What do you want?"

Though he insists I have yet to learn to "mash a cuppa" properly, which he does for us both and then sits at the breakfast bar keeping me company while I reheat some of my hearty cheddar-mushroom quiche, tomato bisque, and rolls.

"At least this held off until the end of term," he says, setting his mug down. He strips off his black military-style sweater to toss on the back of the couch, leaving him in socks, jeans, and a black long-sleeve England Rugby Union T-shirt he picked up at a match he and Dariush went to. He pushes the sleeves up to reveal his fuzzy forearms and almost gracefully slender wrists roped with veins that end in wide palms and long slender fingers that rake his short, dark hair back in place. The odd mix of sharply defined features in the soft length of his face conveys a strong masculinity and yet gentleness that keeps him from looking too out of place in this domestic setting. "When do you have to get the final marks in for your class?"

"Monday at five, but I can do that from here. It's plowing through twelve term papers on 19th century Maritime Law that's the problem."

The glacial blue-grey eyes are always quick and perceptive, and they look at me now with amusement. "Your specialty, love." And the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

"True, but most of them are written by people who are as bored of the subject as you are. To tell you the truth, as I am. I have to keep my comments from MT3K-ing in the margins."

"Mist-ing?" His brows furrow quizzically.

"Mystery Science Theatre 3000…" I explain the premise of "riffing" on old movies while I cook. So dinner conversation is thankfully not about work or school, but comedy TV shows we grew up with and childhood winter memories. The mornings huddled up with the radio in bed listening to school closing announcements, then outside to play in the woods (me) or around the estate park (him), and then back inside to watch afternoon cartoons, on this side of the Atlantic mixed with reruns of _Dad's Army_.

"It was Grandad's favorite. He'd done his bit in the war with the RAF, a mechanic, so he thought it was scream. And he liked that it reminded people of the Home Guard."

"Your Mom's dad?" He nods. John is his grandfather's namesake and the time he spent at his grandparent's house on the outskirts of the Potteries where he grew up has come up before. "You didn't mention you got the military thing from both sides."

He shakes his head as he swallows the last of his roll. "Didn't really. He burned his uniform after he was released from the service. "Cheerfully," he told me." He smiles that odd closed lip smile of his. "Came home, married the girl he'd left behind, and started a family. He and a mate set up their own auto repair garage in Stoke. Didn't do too badly for himself, but then he'd sold his share and retired by the time they closed the pits."

"You were there during the strike."

"Yep." He gets up, taking our plates to the sink. He does not elaborate.

"What was it like?"

But he just runs the tap, rinsing the dishes off. I know better than to push.

My phone goes off this time, a text.

"Gee. Ya think?" I quip upon reading it.

"What?"

"Text from the Round Midnight club, canceling their performance for tonight." One of the many duties of a military S.O. is playing social director, so I try to keep abreast of things John and I might enjoy doing together and save trips to museums and the symphony for when he is out of town.

_But evenings in are nice too._ I think, especially when it feels like the entire world has gone still. I come around the counter to hug John from behind, resting against his back until he finishes washing up and turns to hug me back. Just holding one another in the silence, listening to John's breathing and feeling the scratch of his stubble against my temple and him warm and strong in my arms as I breathe in his earthy scent.

With a dog staring up curiously at us, we eventually note. Smiling we pull apart, but not before John strokes my hair for a moment, looking at me with affection before he drops a light kiss on my forehead.

"Drinks?"

"Sure."

As I go into the living room I notice how warm it has gotten and check the thermostat. John has bumped it up again. I sigh and bump it back down to sub-tropical levels. Not as cool as I like it, but a median where hopefully I'm not sweating and he isn't freezing. As I am popping in a DVD, John follows with a glass of Pinot grigio and a bottle of best bitter.

"What's this?" He hands me my glass as he plunks down on the couch and puts his feet on the wooden coffee table. Mine join his.

"This…should be relatively painless."

So John is introduced to the wonder and glory of MST3K through one of the educational short films they riffed on. I figure I'll break him into this slowly before springing something like "Manos: Hands of Fate" on him. At first he smiles and there are a few throaty chuckles. But when the staid speech instructor at his desk is interrupted with Crowe saying, "Did you know…" "I have little bunnies painted on my knees" while John is in mid-swallow, he chokes, leaning forward as he gags and coughs. I slap his back a few times as he regains his breath and, red faced, breaks into that wonderful laugh, that baritone chortle that is one of my most favorite sounds in the world.

After John promises to get his hands on some of _Dad's Army_ to return the favor, we watch the rest of the short films cuddled up on the couch, his strong arms about me, his shoulder under my cheek, and my legs curled on his lap as we laugh. Soon added to cuddling is stroking, and squeezing, and towards the end nuzzling necks and nibbling earlobes at inopportune moments. Nothing desperate, nothing rushed. That's for John's homecomings. For now we enjoy slowly spinning out the mutual seduction until we're both simmering nicely as the DVD ends. John takes my glass and his bottle to the kitchen, I take Pilot out.

The wind has died down for now, but the snow is still falling heavily in the dark. Big wet sticky snow, perfect for play. I would carry some of it inside and dump it down John's shirt, but he does not handle surprises well. I playfully snuck up behind him once and almost got my wrist crushed as he grabbed me with instinctual violence. I had wondered why John became tense in crowds, and then found out that is common among combat veterans who unconsciously worry about keeping track of potential threats. Most soldiers are either home or they are deployed. There is transition time, but they are one or the other. John never knows when he will be sent into the field or for how long. He is gone and back in the time of a briefing and an airplane flight. The boundaries between his life here and what it is out there sometimes seem paper thin and that switch is always half flipped. I try to make a little noise now if I am out of his sight in the flat or his place, just so he knows where I am and there are no surprises.

Pilot loves to play in the snow, so we take our time as she gambols and snuffs in the lamplight on the edge of the park.

*PFF!*

My outraged yelp rings dully in the air as the smack of a stinging cold snowball strikes my cheek and then slithers down the collar of my coat. "You son of a BITCH!" Pilot runs full tilt at my attacker as I have dropped her lead.

I hear John's voice hiss, "Shit!" as his dark shape moves against the monochrome landscape. He runs around the trees, trying to dodge Pilot and the snowballs I send his way. I'm from Maine, damnit. I have my regional honor to uphold. The next few minutes are filled with flying snowballs, shrieks, shouts, and threats of whitewashes. At some point pursuer becomes pursue-ee and John is coming at me with Pilot at his heels.

"NonononoNO! OOF!" He does not slam into me so much as drags and pushes me down, pinning me with his weight as he laughs in the cold. _Good lord, he has the most amazing smile. _Which goes from child-like fun to a warm and smug smirk as John claims his prize of a kiss. Pilot dances around us, trying to figure out what the new game is by jamming her nose between us and licking our faces.

"Ugh! Geroff." John says, gently pushing the questing snout aside. I grab Pilot's leash as he rolls on his back beside me in the snow, watching the flakes fall out of the darkness as we catch our breath.

"The whole thing was a just a shitty situation," he says quietly to the sky. It takes me a moment to realize he is addressing my question from earlier. This is an odd little pattern from him I am still getting used to. "And what is a thing like that to any kid at 13? At first it was exciting. Then it was routine...And then I saw Brian's, my best mate, Dad with the side of his face smashed in by the police. Just for wanting to keep his job."

"Jesus."

"A couple days later Brian beat the shit out of one of the kids whose dad was scabbing. He was a couple of years behind us in school. I stopped it. Wasn't his fault his dad was desperate. But in Brian's head that made me anti-union and anti-his dad and anti-him. Didn't talk to me for three years. And in the eyes of the whole fucking school it made me look like one Mrs. T's boys."

"Oh christ," I say without surprise.

"Third time I came home with a bloody nose, Mum wanted to send me to my Father, but I wouldn't go."

"How long did it last?"

"The worst of it was over a couple months after the strike was broken. It wasn't forgiven or forgotten, but I wasn't getting jumped in the toilets anymore….The fact that I shot up a foot over the summer holidays probably had something to do with it."

"Still, that's pretty fucked up."

There a moment of assenting silence from him, "...Granddad heard that his grandson was a little Tory shit, so he pulled me aside and asked me what happened. I told him I wasn't Tory, barely knew what it meant. I just stopped my friend from beating the crap out of a kid half his size and everyone was pissed off at me for it. He just looked at me. Then said, "Well John, it doesn't get any easier from here. It's not like the story books. Someone's always going to be mad at you for doing the right thing, so you had better get used to it. Do you still think it was the right thing to do?" When I said, "Yes, sir," he said, "Good man. Your friend can tell you what is right, the vicar can tell you what is right, the politician can tell you what is right, but the only sure thing is what your conscience tells you is right. If you can still look yourself in the mirror, you made the right choice.""

_That explains a lot._ "You miss him." John's granddad died shortly before his father did. I take his gloved hand in my own and look at him, a wonderful aching glow filling my chest. "He was right you know." John turns his head to look at me. "You are a good man."

His eyes are pale grey in the lamplight as raises my hand to his lips. "...Now come on, it's colder the witch's tit out here."

"Hey!"

"Colder than *some* witches' tits," he corrects as he pulls me up to him. "Some witches tits are very warm. And soft," he murmurs in my ear, brushing his hand over my coat.

In the dark he can't see me blushing wildly, but I know he can guess. "I suggest you get me somewhere warm to enjoy them."

He wears that naughty smile as we leave the park, but as he unlocks the door, I see it has vanished. "Uh...If they manage to find someone else for that assignment while I am stuck here, we could head up to Stoke for Christmas."

"To see your Mum?"

"Er, Yeah. Lexie will be visiting Dianne's family, so...," he says casually as he holds the door open for me. "Not a problem, is it?"

"No, not at all," I answer with equally false blasé as we head up the stairs.

After hanging up our coats with Pilot's lead, I follow John into the bedroom and put Pilot to bed in her kennel. I ask John "Man make fire?" to which he theatrically grunts and goes to flip on the gas switch in the fireplace as I go into the master bath and strip down to warm up with a hot shower. I am disappointed and curious when he does not join me. Afterwards I slather lotion on myself and step into the bedroom to throw on my PJ's and go looking for him. Maybe he wanted to watch another movie first?

_Oh._

I can hear him in the guest bath down the hall. The fire is going cheerfully enough for me to forget that the fake logs are not actually burning. The candles on the dresser and bedside tables are lit, casting a warm glow over the white sheets and blankets covered with my old quit in shades of green.

And there is a box from Agent Provocateur sitting on the bed.

_Oh dear._

John has been joking to the point it was clear he was not joking about getting me a lacey corset and suspenders for Christmas. I tried to tell him with my build it would make me look like a twenty dollar whore. "Well…that's the point, Honey," was his rejoinder. I do not understand lingerie really. Nice underwear you can wear all the time I get. John has a particular fondness for my demi-bras, particularly when I am coming downstairs at his house. I have had a couple requests to repeat my performance of this act which was then received with an expression of adorably boyish puerile delight. But the fancy stuff you just wear it for ten seconds before it ends up on the floor. Must be one of those "men are more visual" things.

*sigh* _Might as well get it over with, _I think as I open the box and push the garishly pink tissue paper aside.

_Oh._

_OH!_

"The real question," I ask as I lounge against the doorway to the bathroom a few minutes later. "…is who is this gift supposed to be giving too?"

The midnight blue of the silk brings out the peach in my creamy skin and the red in my hair. The negligee is simple, a pair of long panels that chastely cover my front and back from a few inches above my nipples to my ankles, but are only held together by spaghetti shoulder straps and silk ribbons that *very* loosely lace down the sides to just under my hips, revealing the pale skin of my curves.

John is frozen for moment in the act of shaving, the razor hanging in midair as his eyes wander up and down my body with that wonderful male expression of amazement and hunger that every woman needs to see on a regular basis. "Wow."

I could say the same. He is wearing nothing but a towel tucked in around his hips. Above his big boney feet, the incongruously narrow ankles and slender calves, I can see the outlines of the strong muscles of his thighs and backside in profile as he faces the sink, leading up from his hips to the long lines of his broad back and the intricate musculature of his rib cage and shoulders as he twists toward me. Even through the shaving lather and gobsmacked expression, the striking lines of his face and pale blue eyes project "Male," capital "M," in all its potency and warm sensuality. _Damn, I hope I never get used to how handsome he is._

I come into the bathroom and place my hands on his waist, rising on my toes to give him a little peck through the lather around his lips. He sets the razor down to run his hands down my back and over my silk clad backside. "Well," he purrs, "I gave that to you, so you can give this to me, so I can give you...something else." He pulls my hips to his to let me feel his growing appreciation for the sight.

A flame leaps between my thighs in anticpation and I smile. "I thought you were going to get one of those silly lacey things with the suspenders."

He turns back to the sink to finish shaving, "Thought about it. But then I realized...it was a bit like putting a petticoat on a puma. Just...wasn't right."

_…Oh damn, I'm his forever. _"Thank you." _For the nightgown, for the compliment, and for seeing me and my sexuality as I am, not as you wish it to be._

I sit on the counter to watch him. I love to watch a man shave his face. It's such an inherently masculine ritual, a "man thing" alien and fascinating to me. John thinks I'm a weirdo, but he's used to it now.

_A little too used to it_, I think as he hands me the razor. "Go on then."

"You're sure?"

He braces himself on the counter, his hands on either side of my hips. _Hello, John's chest_.

"Up here." His eyebrows lift to comically convey the seriousness of my responsibility, "Just remember that if you slit my throat, I can't make good on any promises."

I'm sure my obvious trepidation does not convey confidence, but I smother my nervousness by biting the corner my lip and jump in. John's low tone guides me. "You can press a little firmer…With the grain... Good." He lifts his chin to lets me finish that side under his jaw. Thankfully he has already shaved over his adam's apple, I wouldn't dare. He then twists his lips to one side and another so I can shave his cheeks and jaw, then pulls them in to let me shave his chin and moustache.

"Stop that," I instruct. His corner of his mouth started to twitch upward under the razor as he breaks into a smile.

"Can't help it, you look fucking adorable," he tries to smother the chuckle.

"You can laugh in a few seconds...There." John gathers me to him to give me a full kiss, sweet with affection and mucky with leftover shaving foam, before he releases me to rinse off. I dip my hand under the faucet to rinse my face too as he swipes more of my aloe vera night lotion as an aftershave balm.

_*sigh* I will have to get him his own. _

_Though he gets everything else for himself..._I think, shrieking and laughing as he throws me over his shoulder to carry me into the bedroom, smacking my ass along the way. Given that it is within reach, I return the favor, giving his rump a whack. This escalates to dire threats and tickling, and it such a shame I have to leave his towel on the floor to get to John's hips where he is ticklish. He manages to stagger the last few feet into the bedroom to throw me down on the bed where he follows me down, smiling between the sensual kisses as he settles his big, warm, strong, naked body into mine.

"I could have dropped you," his chest is still shaking with laughter, his grin infectious.

"Worth it." I breathe, brushing my fingers through his dark hair and pulling his lips to mine.

The laugher soon fades as he cups my face in his hand, his thumb tracing over my cheek with a feather light touch as I look into his eyes, watching twinkle of amusement and affection in blue shift into the affection and desire of storm grey. He has me so utterly. It is this dichotomy, the powerful masculine nature of him with his tremendous gentleness, sensual lust and cherishing affection, an animal passion with an angel's touch, that inflames and makes me feel safe to truly let go in his arms. I can't get enough of it. I can't get enough of him.

His kisses deepen as he nudges a heavy thigh up between my own and rolls us over. His hands travel down my spine and my backside, encouraging me to rub my silk-clad body on his. I can feel his hard length against my tummy and know the drape of the negligee has fallen between his legs. His velvet tongue slides over mine and our breath becomes deeper, stoking the delicious fire as his hands run wild, fingers tracing lightly over the areas that he knows drives me crazy, gripping hard when my silken writhing returns the favor.

Rolling us back on our sides, he slides down my body and unties the silk ribbon bow at my hip holding the lacing up one side. He pauses to look at the freckle at the top of my thigh. His chin lifts a tad and he smirks with smug conquest. He won it of me over a cut-throat game of Risk, and the Sharpie marker label of "Property of J.A.P." has only just faded.

He drops a kiss on "his spot," starting a leisurely progress of soft lips and hot breath up my side as he slowly unlaces the negligee. With a sensual kiss on my lips, he starts to slide the silk from my body. But before he can move down to my breast that he is cupping and kneading gently, I slip my hand under the silk panel between us and slide it down his body. I reach as low as I can moving over his hips and legs, rubbing it up the backs of his thighs and over his backside before moving between us to wrap it's slippery softness around him, gently fondling and stroking him with it. He growls softly, leaving my lips for a moment to watch my hands against the warm blue silk against him.

Something in me thrills at the sight. "Do you like that?" I whisper in his ear. His response is a breathless kiss. As my hands gain more gentle confidence, he stifles a groan by nipping my shoulder and his response sends a charge to the forceful heat that is building between my thighs.

Taking the panel from under me, a soft slippery barrier between the gentle touch of his fingers and my charged skin, he slides it across my breasts, already aching to their little pink tips. He cups them with the silk before lowering his lips to bush against my nipple, letting me feel his hot breath, lapping lightly at it before taking it in his mouth to suckle. His hands drag the silk down my belly, up my thigh, leaving it draped there as he brushes his fingers over the soft flesh inside them.

He switches back for a moment, and then returns, murmuring against my other breast, "Your skin, so soft..." And as he captures my other nipple in his mouth, his deft fingers gently part the heat of me, stroking softly, teasing it to a desperate swollen ache until I am writing against him, starving for more.

I pull his mouth to mine, kissing him wildly as he lets me roll him over. Nuzzling his neck, nipping at his ear, my hot breath and soft lips tracing over his shoulders, his chest, pausing to lap gently at a nipple, and ever downwards, stoking his hips and tights with the silk, laying it over him as I slide him between my breasts, until I am watching my hands play over him, pulling the silk lightly over his length, cupping and stroking him.

I look up to see him watching me with eyes dark with wanting, almost panting through parted lips. "Whenever you spend time on my prick, you look like you did while you were giving me a shave; like you're excited to have a new toy to play with."

"It is exciting to explore you, I like it," I say with honestly and pure delight. And it is true. I love every bit of it. The living strength in his body, the texture of his warm skin under my hands, discovering the little details, finding all nooks and spots that make him those wonderful noises. My fingers play lightly over his length. "But I wouldn't say a toy, no. Definitely not..." I expose the head of his shaft from the blue silken wrapping, kissing it, lapping it. "…a toy." And I swallow him down.

He falls back on the bed with a groan, and in the next few minutes the ache between my thighs become a fiery point of yearning as I savor the feel of him in my mouth, the weight and power of him in the silk in my hands, and the sounds of pleasure escaping him as he alternately grips the blanket in his fists and brushes the hair back from my face to watch.

Soon he pulls me up to him, kissing me deeply, leaving the silk draped across his upper thighs as he pulls my body to his. I feel his weight shift and I know he wants to roll me over to return the favor, an impulse I am grateful for, but it's too late. _I must... I need you... now. _I slide my body over his, rising up slightly to watch his eyes as I tilt my hips to find his hard length and sheathe it in my swollen, slippery heat in a single fluid motion. _YES!_ His groan through parted lips and the feral light in his eyes just spurs my arousal and I roll my hips as I rise and fall, moaning helplessly at the pressure and fullness, the texture of his shaft moving through the gates of my cleft.

Interlacing my fingers in his he pushes me up, watching me with wanton fervency as I ride him. He murmurs words of encouragement between the gasps and groans I love so much as the heat and pressure around him builds to a burning fever pitch and my movements become mindless, rocking against him seeking the fullest contact. John grips my hips and I feel his thighs against my buttocks as he finds purchase on the bed to drive himself into me, setting that glorious pace between us.

The heat focuses into an edge that is almost painful._ But…I can't in this position, I've never…_ And then I meet John's eyes, the tenderness behind the burning possession, the wonder as he watches me, the trust he has in me, in this moment, the trust I have in him. John, pure and perfect and beautiful. _My love, my mate. _I gasp his name and the bonfire explodes, my body wracked with waves of molten pleasure as I thrash over him, crying out.

His response is a growled, "Oh Fuck, YEAH!" as he rolls us over, never missing a beat as he devours my mouth with a wild kiss and drives himself into me as my hips rise to meet his, his whole body in motion with mine in our natural rhythm. The elemental masculine force of him driving my soft feminine need up another crest. Dazed and riding another rising wave of pleasure, I clasp him to me and he whispers my name against my mouth. Our breath shared as our primal desires carry forward our need to just be together, here, now, one.

Soon the rhythmic mewls coming from my throat rise and I shriek out my release as another explosion of pleasure tears through me, my body clutching at his as a second later a shudder washes through him and he digs his fingers into my shoulders and buries his face in my neck. His guttural cry in my ear as he drives deep and I feel the waves of his culmination pulsing inside me.

For a long time, there is nothing but breath and heartbeats, as if the world has gone still but for the most basic rhythms of life. Our life. As if there was no one in the universe but we two in this quiet moment.

Awareness slowly returns. First the scent of him and the musk of us, his vital weight, the texture of his skin under my hands.

My thighs are shaking. They are locked like iron around John's waist, but trembling like the muscles of a skittish horse.

A rippling aftershock of my body grips him and John jolts, bringing us both back toward earth. He gasps against my neck, chuckling as he exhales his tension out. I can feel him propping himself up from my body with a "Whew!" Then his fingers gently brush the hair back from my face before his lips touch mine with almost heartbreaking tenderness. I open my eyes to see his soft blue eyes looking down on me with mingled love and exhausted and amazed fulfillment.

"Love you," I whisper, my fingertips tracing his eyebrow, his cheek.

"Love you," he whispers back, tracing the lines of my face in return. Then he smiles, so open and simple, almost innocent in its delight. "And I love when ye come like that..."

I take some feminine pride in having driven him to such a distraction his northern accent is getting thicker.

"…Thrashing around with yer hair in your face, you look like you've been properly fucked. By me." He kisses me long and slow and appreciatively.

"I have been properly fucked by you." I'm beaming.

He smiles again, genuinely happy, and hugs me tight.

Slowly I unlock my limbs from around him, stretching out one leg, then the next, wriggling my out my clenched toes. John stays inside me until he is no longer able, and smiles at my moan of complaint when he withdraws and flops on his back.

_Dear God and Goddess, he is wonderful. Thank you. Always bring him home safely to me. _

I roll over to nuzzle into his neck, threading my fingertips lightly through the hair on his chest. He chuckles and I look into his eyes and see he is mine, and I am his. We lie still, lightly touching, listening to the soft crackle of the fire and the wind which has picked up outside the windows until the sweat dries and the chill overtakes us. We blow out the candles and douse the fire before crawling under the covers to sleep.

"Hey, " he whispers softly in the dark.

"What?" I whisper back.

He gathers me in his arms and rests his forehead against mine. "Thank you."

"...I didn't give you your present yet."

He strokes my hair gently. "Yeah, yeah you did."

~fin~


End file.
